


Don't Touch My Puppers

by kiranightshade



Series: Steter Week 2017 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Season/Series 06, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Norse Religion & Lore, Asgard, Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Wild Hunt, Wrongful Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-01-31 12:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12682218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiranightshade/pseuds/kiranightshade
Summary: In which Peter and Stiles escape the Wild Hunt only to land at the feet of none other than Fenrir, the eater of worlds.





	Don't Touch My Puppers

**Author's Note:**

> I swear this has nothing to do with the new Marvel movie. In fact, in my googling I specifically excluding anything relating to Marvel Comics. I've been wanting to learn more about Norse mythology for years. (But Loki still looks like Tom hiddelson)

Stiles lands with an oomph and Peter’s chest in his face. He rolls onto his back to see nothing but the ceiling of a cave. The portal to the train station is gone. 

He hurts everywhere. Looking to the side, he sees Peter not faring any better. Burns cover them both, but they’re healing. Cell by cell, just like Peter said. 

Stiles doesn’t even register the bite on his wrist. They wait together as their skin stitches back together. 

 

*** 

 

They didn’t land in the preserve. In fact, they don’t think they landed on Earth at all. 

There were a few signs, once they were aware enough to notice them. Peter says he would recognize his family’s land, but the giant chained wolf was a good clue too.

He’s got a sword in his mouth and he can’t move for the chains cutting into his skin. He looks drained. He barely acknowledges their presence. It breaks Stiles’ heart.

“Is that…” Peter asks.

“Holy shit.”

Stiles walks up to the wolf only for Peter to drag him back. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses into his ear.

“Well, we can’t just leave him!”

“Don’t you know what he does once he’s freed?”

“Anyone who does something like this deserves to be eaten.”

“We’ll be eaten.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Even if he doesn’t eat us, not every god dies in Ragnarok.”

“I don’t care.”

“Stiles…”

“I don’t care. What if it was you, Peter? What if this was when you were caged. Would you have told me not to free you for fear of collateral? I never took you for the greater good type.”

Peter lets him go. “I’m only thinking about us.”

Us. Right, because they’re pack now. Stiles sighs, “It’s not like we can break those chains anyway. Not if all of the story is true. But they look as if they’ll break any moment. The least we can do is get that sword out of his mouth.”

They can’t just take the sword out, unfortunately. First, Fenrir won’t let them too close and werewolves can do a lot of things, but growing hands isn’t one of them. They find that they never grow hungry or tired in the cave though, so they find no reason to venture out. Time is weird here, but Fenrir does allow them to touch his hide eventually. 

Fenrir is an intelligent being and though he cannot speak, Peter and Stiles tell him of how Midgard has changed since his imprisonment and he listens. They comb through his fur with patient hands and warm each other through the cold nights against his side. 

It takes weeks, but eventually they are trusted enough to take the sword out. 

It’s an ugly affair, filled with pain and tears from all parties, but once it’s out it’s thrown as far away and they can get it. They help Fenrir close his jaw inches at a time for the first time in far too long. 

They lay together for days after that, waiting for Fenrir’s whimpering to fade, comforting him. They have three shiny new pack bonds by the end. 

 

*** 

 

The chains break a month later. Fenrir knows the predictions of his freedom, of Ragnarok. He finds it amusing that they set up their own fears to be realized with their betrayal as much as he detests the very thought. 

“I never did anything wrong. I liked to play rough, but I was a pup. I couldn’t help being bigger.”

“You were raised in a den of warriors and condemned for being powerful,” Peter says against his scruff as if he were speaking from experience.

Stiles looks at him closely, but doesn’t comment when Peter promises further explanation later with a look. 

Fenrir must have sensed it as well, for he takes the opportunity to lick a stripe up Peter’s face and the force of it pushes him onto his back. Stiles bursts out laughing and Fenrir joins him. Peter flashes his red eyes playfully at them, causing a new burst of giggles.

 

*** 

 

Fenrir’s paws heal slowly, but they heal, and soon he is able to walk and run unhindered. 

Time seems to resume once they step out of the cave, and they hunt in the surrounding wilderness together as one. 

Everything is bigger here, as if to accommodate Fenrir’s size. The buck they share is only just big enough to share between the three of them. 

Their return to Midgard is quiet. Fenrir gladly feasts on those that threaten their pack and Stiles has never seen Scott’s eyes as wide as they are when they arrive on top of Fenrir’s back. Stiles reunites with his dad. Peter stays with Fenrir in the preserve. Deaton tells everyone who Fenrir is and Scott tries to kill him. They don’t stick around long after that. 

And then one day Fenrir leaves in search of his father, promising to return soon. They wait in a small village in Denmark, and they know Loki has been found after a particularly swift earthquake. 

They wake in Asgard the next day.

There are gods and goddesses surrounding them, towering over them. Odin sits proudly upon his throne, but Stiles can see the fear in his eyes, in all their eyes, and he growls at them. 

“Couldn’t take us until Fenrir left, could you? Pathetic.”

The gods bristle and break into outraged chatter, but Stiles doesn’t care. He’s prepared for this, expected this a lot sooner, and isn’t willing to apologize for anything. 

Besides, what more could they do to him than what they’ve already surely planned?

“Silence,” a booming voice echoes across the hall. Tyr steps forward, his eyes like stone as he addresses Stiles.

“Do you have any idea what you have done?”

“Wasted your precious sacrifice?” Stiles laughs unkindly. “You all deserve to be eaten for what you’ve done.”

Stiles chokes on the hand that suddenly has him hanging by the throat. 

“I’d take better care of what you say, boy. You are amongst the gods.”

Peter laughs behind them, but Stiles can see the rage underneath the surface in the corner of his eye.

“You clearly don’t know who you’re dealing with. That boy wouldn’t shut up to save his life.”

Stiles drops to the ground, coughing as he curls into the fetal position. Tyr turns to Peter and Stiles spits at him before he can touch him. 

The gods still. Stiles snarls.

“I will never regret what I’ve done. All of Asgard could burn for all I care. You assholes, you think you can do whatever you want. That you can throw around your greater good and justify anything. Nothing justifies what you did! Nothing! What you did to Fenrir was cruel and cowardly. You were afraid and you lashed out and now you’ve fulfilled your own damn prophecy.”  
Odin stands, but is never able to speak, for at that moment a great roar echoes throughout Asgard. 

They all turn to see two giant wolves standing at the hall’s entrance. Nobody stops them from stepping forward, from standing protectively over Peter and nobody stops Stiles from darting between those massive forelegs beside him. 

Fenrir growls lowly at Tyr until he stumbles away. The fear in the air is no longer in their stiff postures, but in the tightness with which they hold their weapons. What follows is a gruesome sight. 

Loki remains over them, keeping any stray gods away. It isn’t until near all dead or dying and Odin lays still with his entrails staining the marble floor that Stiles moves. He doesn’t think about it, about the space between them or the fact that it is a god he is attacking. He only sees his pack in danger, and he can only think of what Viõarr’s blood will taste like. 

He shifts fully for the first time, and he catches Viõarr by his shoulder. He screams as he hits the ground, his blade sliding out of reach. Fenrir turns from where he’d been feasting on Odin, and is quick to finish the job. 

Without thinking, Stiles gulps at the sight of him, covered in god’s blood and as imposing as he’s ever been. Viõarr’s blood is sweet as it goes down his throat. He hears a man’s benevolent laughter.

Loki has shifted to his human form, and stands regally by Peter’s side. 

“A new age, it seems, has begun. We’ll be needing a new chief, I suppose. But all of that later.” Loki approaches his son, love and respect in his eyes as he grows larger to properly hold him close. “It is good see you, my son. I’m glad to see your childish whims have brought you such peace. Most are not so kind.”

They share more tender words, but Stiles turns away. Peter is standing over a dying Tyr impassively. Stiles moves to stand beside him and takes his hand. They lean into each other and watch as the last god dies before them. 

“Some god of justice, huh.”

“Personally, I find the entire thing rather ironic.”

“Hilarious, really,” Loki says inches behind them, making them jump. “He was killed for the very thing he claimed to be the epitome of. Self-righteous bastards, the lot of them. But that’s not what we need to discuss. Come.” 

Loki leads them through the vast halls of the Aesir’s fortress and to a large room decorated in fine furs and artworks. 

“You must know that you cannot return to Midgard as you left. It is a transformation that has already begun for the both of you.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles asks.

“Not only have you formed bonds to Fenrir, but you’ve ingested a god’s blood. Surely you didn’t think it to be void of consequences.” 

Stiles looks to Peter quizzically and he shrugs as if to say, nothing ventured nothing gained.

“What exactly are we becoming?” Peter asks.

“Why, gods, of course. Think of it this way, a wolf kills an alpha to become alpha. I should know. You are technically my grandchildren. You’ve killed Tyr and Viõarr, and now you become them.”

“But we didn’t kill them.”

“Details,” Loki says with a dismissive sway of his hand. “The point is that you’re not dead. Which means you’ll be filling a few empty chairs in Aesir. Of course, your wolves will change. Particularly, your dynamics. Peter, you’ll cease to be the alpha of your pack. You’ll retain your abilities, of course. But Fenrir is your chief now. Can you accept that?”

And…oh, Stiles thinks. Loki is simply worried about Fenrir. He doesn’t want to see him hurt again. 

Peter seems to realize this too. “Becoming an alpha was always a means to an end. I think I’ve met that end a few times over by now.”

Loki relaxes, truly relaxes, then. “In that case, welcome to the family. Speaking of family, I’m sure my daughter will be here personally any moment now. She wouldn’t want to miss this.”

His smile is absolutely impish. Stiles finds himself mirroring as they are led back to the throne room.

**Author's Note:**

> It's a shame I couldnt incorporate Stiles punching Odin in the face. That's right. I said it. Smite me.


End file.
